


In His Arms

by thedi_WRECK_tor



Series: Wye Oneshots [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Cold, Cuddling, Established Relationship, M/M, Sleeping Together, Wye, based on my headcannon that jacob is a cuddler and ned is not, bit of hurt/comfort i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5225603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedi_WRECK_tor/pseuds/thedi_WRECK_tor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's cold out, and Ned has started to enjoy being held in Jacob's warm, safe embrace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In His Arms

**Author's Note:**

> ahahaha what even is this i don't know. Basically just going off my headcannon and exploring their relationship a bit more. Also Ned is a grouch and Jacob is, as always, amused by his sulky beau. special thanks to gayspaceelf for beta'ing this for me!

For them to come together took a fair bit of work. It had been easier before; the flirting, the innuendo, the suggestive sidelong looks. That aspect of their relationship had been easy, fun. Their sarcasm and their humor complemented each other so well, had been so natural. It might never have progressed beyond that if Jacob hadn't jokingly suggested a kiss.

 

Then the metaphorical dam broke.

 

The _sexual_ aspect of their relationship had taken work in the beginning, mostly of the working-up-the-nerve sort on both their parts. Locking lips and writhing against one another like seizing snakes, that was easy for them, and something they did every chance they had. Moving beyond that was nerve-wracking for the both of them.

 

Once they had, whatever was left of the dam crumbled.

 

It was becoming a legitimate _They,_ though, that took more work. Even if _They_ only existed behind closed doors, if they were the only ones that knew about _Them_ , it took work.

 

They were both independent, run-on-their-own-schedule-and-you-better-hop-on-for-the-ride kind of men. A quickie on the office floor or against a wall on the train or even in the backroom of an abandoned shop was always on the table for them, but spending time together (alone, without Evie or Henry or Ned's men or any of the Rooks running around behind them) was nearly impossible with their individual activities. Making time outside of the bedroom (or, you know, wherever they happened to be) was work, but even that wasn't the hardest part of their relationship.

 

The hardest part was _compromise_.

 

They were very different men. Everything from their choice of tea to their political stances. Really, the only thing the two seemed to always agree on was that following the law was for suckers and on how neither could get enough of the other. They seemed to do more arguing than anything else (that didn't end up with them horizontal, anyway) and it never failed to drive those around them batty. They'd even argue just for argument's sake sometimes (and for the make-up afterwards).

 

The biggest point on compromise for them, though, was physical contact.

 

On the one hand, Jacob was an extremely tactual person. He enjoyed slinging an arm across someone's shoulders, ruffling their hair, slapping their back heartily in congratulations, even with base acquaintances. With those he was emotionally close to (of which he could count on his hands) he was far more affectionate and not shy of it. Those who didn't know him well would be shocked to find out what a _hugger_ Jacob Frye, second best assassin in the region, really was. Quick hugs, bear hugs, long embraces. He wasn't just an avid hugger, either, he was a _good_ one. The kind of hugger that you actually enjoy hugging, not just awkwardly tolerate. And of course, in bed, he was a _cuddler_.

 

Ned, on the other hand, had what you might call a thick personal bubble. Touching was an activity he had neither the time nor inclination to indulge in. In fact, before Jacob, he couldn't rightly recall the last time he'd been touched in any manner and enjoyed it. It wasn't just the fact that hugging someone or even just brushing up against them might reveal something he would really rather not. Ned Wynert was just not a... touchy-feely kind of person. A handshake was about as much physical contact as he could stand, in truth, and it had always been that way, even as a child. He had a bubble of space that he enjoyed and he preferred to keep everyone well out of it.

 

The first time Jacob had tried to hug him in public, Ned had nearly had a _stroke_.

 

It was one of their very worst arguments, and the first that hadn't wound up with them making up horizontally after that first time they'd been together. And, now, it was a constant source of disagreement between them.

 

Jacob understood. _Really_ , he did. He had listened and understood and tried very hard to be mindful but he just sort of... tended to gravitate towards the smaller man. His hand tended to reach out to Ned without conscious decision, his mouth tended to drop to the crown of Ned's head, or the back of his hand, or even his shoulder without actual thought on his part. Ned would swat him away immediately, snapping at him to back up. Even in private, Ned's first instinct was to remove the intruder from his personal space. Ned understood, especially after having talked to Evie about his frustrations with her brother, but it was difficult for him to compromise a lifetime of self-induced 'bubbling'.

 

As much as he hated to admit it, though, he did enjoy having Jacob invade that bubble. In private, anyway. And he was coming to enjoy it more with every passing touch.

 

He enjoyed their quiet time spent together, on the train or in his office or in some private little corner of London where they managed to steal a few minutes of privacy. He enjoyed the way Jacob would want to sit close to him, close enough that they were touching, even if just barely. He enjoyed the way Jacob would run those thick, calloused fingers through his hair or trace patterns on his bare skin. He enjoyed those completely enveloping hugs where Jacob would wrap his thick arms around his slight body, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other pressing into his lower back while the bigger man seemed to curl over Ned as if to shield him from the world. Whenever they lay together, or sat together, or were even just near each other long enough, Jacob invariably wanted to pull Ned closer, wrap him in that full embrace, and press his cheek against Ned's hair. Every time he did this, he'd let out this content little sigh. He rub his cheek against the crown of Ned's heads, rub circles against his back, lean down to kiss his brow. Sometimes he'd start to hum in a way that would make Ned think about rolling green hills, wild forests, and the bluest skies. He was so happy when Ned allowed him to do these things that it was almost impossible for Ned to tell him no. Whenever he did, or whenever he finally had to pull away from the embrace, the bigger man would get this sad, kicked-puppy dog look on his face that just tugged on Ned's heartstrings in a way that was _absolutely unacceptable_. He'd gripe about it because, christ, the man was like a walking furnace and he had important things to do. His belly always started to squirm with pleasure whenever Jacob did this, though, and he'd find himself closing his eyes and letting the embrace last as long as feasibly possible.

 

One point he would absolutely not compromise on, however, was the cuddling.

 

Because, dammit, Jacob was a giant, suffocating _furnace_. And he always wanted to, gods help him, _snuggle._ After their trysts, instead of rolling away to sleep he'd pull Ned into one of _those_ embraces, usually with a stupid, satisfied grin on his smug face. Ned would allow it for a minute or two but once he'd caught his breath, it was time for Jacob to let go, kicked-puppy face or no. Once they started sleeping together instead of just _sleeping_ together, the snuggling became a point of frustration for both of them. Jacob wanted to pull Ned against his chest, and sleep with the man tucked against him so he could run his hands all over that slight, trim body of his. So he could run his fingers through Ned's hair or nuzzle his face into it. Ned, however, complained that he hated waking up drenched in sweat, which was an inevitability—Jacob was just too warm, and being surrounded on all sides by him (while varying degrees pleasant for short periods) would probably be like being baked in a giant oven when it lasted all night.

 

That was the argument Ned put forth, anyway. He didn't want to admit to the panicked thoughts of being trapped and held down that he'd woken up to after a nap he'd spent in Jacob's arms. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, neither of them had. The couch had just been so inviting and Jacob had been gone from the city for a week to help out another Bureau, and they'd both been exhausted and just wanted to be together for a while...

 

That terrifying moment right after regaining consciousness, though, where he couldn't remember where he was, how he'd gotten there, or why he was pinned between the back of the couch and a warm, firm body. Alarms had gone off in his head, his body had frozen in shock and fear, and he'd opened his mouth to start yelling, even braced himself to attack his captor when reality fell down harshly around him again, snapping him out of his fear. Still, he'd woken Jacob up and pushed the bigger man away and tried to hide the nauseous, shaky feeling he was left with in the aftermath of the ordeal from the confused assassin.

 

After that, he was more careful about the snuggling, which he knew hurt Jacob. He felt a pang of guilt for that, and relief that Jacob didn't push it. Even when he invited Jacob to share his bed for the night, and he could see how badly Jacob wanted to hold onto him, Jacob didn't push. One night, that pang of guilt became too much for Ned, so he allowed a compromise where Jacob could hold his hand while they slept. It was silly (and in Ned's mind a little juvenile) but Jacob's smile had lit up the dim room, and he wrapped Ned's slim hand in his much bigger one, brushing his lips over Ned's knuckles before deciding to push his luck by sliding one of his ankles against Ned's calf before tangling their feet together. And, as it made Ned's belly quiver pleasantly, he'd allowed it.

 

After that, whenever they shared a bed, Jacob's free hand would be wrapped around one of Ned's, holding it tightly through the night. Even though they slept on opposite sides of the mattress, his arm would stretch out as far as he needed to keep Ned's hand within reach.

 

In the autumn, there was less need for stretching. Winter came, and there was hardly a need at all. There was still distance between them but as the temperature dropped the thief would wiggle closer and closer to his personal furnace throughout the night. Jacob's body heat was so immense that there was no need for extra blankets, just a slight reducing of the space between them. And the deeper into winter they found themselves, the more often Ned invited Jacob to stay the night (and the more often Ned was willing to let Jacob hold onto him throughout the day).

 

When everything began to freeze over and snow began to fall, Ned was downright insistent that Jacob stay in bed with him all day if they could manage it.

 

That winter, though, was becoming downright unbearable. Jacob may have been content to go around with hardly any change to his attire besides a little extra padding and boots that afforded him more traction on the ice, but Ned was not as lucky. He was small, he was skinny, and he was _fucking cold_. He had no idea how Jacob generated so much body heat (probably something to do with that massive ego of his, he could just turn all that smug into extra heat) but as the days grew colder he grew more jealous. It didn't matter how many layers he wrapped himself in or how high he stoked the fire, he was _always_ fucking cold.

 

Unless, of course, Jacob happened to be draped over him at the moment (and that was beginning to get on Ned's nerves—the colder it was, the grumpier he became and the more easily annoyed, and being caught between getting work done and wanting to have Jacob wrapped around him like a second skin was really fucking annoying).

 

Then came one day where London woke to a white-out blizzard. The train became overcrowded with the bodies of Rooks both young and grown, as did every Rook-controlled factory and business within the seven boroughs. Ned was only too happy to let Jacob stay with him for the duration of the storm when the man showed up in the middle of it the first day, looking grouchy and (for the first time that Ned could recall) very cold. He'd shaken off all the snow, stomped it from his boots, then practically carried Ned up the stairs to the bedroom where the fire was burning merrily and the bed was draped in a mountain of blankets.

 

It was now the third day of the storm, and Ned was really tired of being this damn cold. Having Jacob around helped quite a bit, but it was so cold they could hardly keep the fire going and the windows had frozen over on the inside as well. It was _so_ cold they woke one morning to find the fire had been blown out by a draft and the water pitcher on the dresser had a thin layer of ice on top.

 

Every blanket that Ned owned was draped over the bed. It didn't stop him from waking up when it was still pitch-black outside, shivering so hard that it actually hurt.

 

Everything ached. His skin felt numb, his limbs felt heavy and stupid, and his brain worked sluggishly as he lay there, miserable and out of breath from the force of his shivers. In the dark and without his glasses he couldn't see Jacob, but when he reached out their intertwined hands a few inches he brushed against what he thought might be Jacob's side. The assassin jerked and grunted in his sleep but didn't wake.

 

Still trembling, his brain still running as though through molasses, Ned experienced a moment of wonder at how _warm_ that little bit of skin had been against his fingertips. With teeth chattering so hard he was afraid he'd bite through his tongue, Ned scooted closer to his Jacob, pressing himself against the long line of his lover's body.

 

Jacob let out a shocked yelp and jerked away. The hand he didn't have wrapped around Ned's suddenly whipped out from beneath the pillow, holding one of his throwing knives as he shot up in bed, looking for his attacker.

 

“S-s-s-sorr-r-ry...”

 

The small, quiet voice had Jacob blinking blearily and looking down, taking a moment for his eyes to adjust in the dark. When his mind caught up with his reflexes and he could make out the shaking body beside him, Jacob blinked, finally understanding what had happened. He flopped back down beside Ned, shoving the knife back under his pillow and grabbing the thief's hand in his again. It was the only part of the smaller man's body that was warm. “Christ, Ned. You're like a block of ice.”

 

“I-I-I-I _kn-n-n-n-ow_.” He groused. “I-I'm-m-m f-f-fuck-k-king f-f-f-f-f-f _-freez_ -zing.” God, even talking hurt. His jaw ached and his chest ached and his throat burned and he let out this low, pitiful moan as he tried to burrow closer to Jacob.

 

Startled by the sound, Jacob rolled onto his side, towards Ned, and began to run his hand firmly over Ned's quaking limbs, trying to rub some feeling back into them. He winced when the thief wiggled even closer, pressing his ice-cold body to the assassin's, practically vibrating against him. “Should I get the fire going again?”

 

Ned's hand jerked up and wrapped grabbed Jacob's arm as he shook his head frantically against the bigger man's chest. “N-n-n-n-no! G-g-god-d d-d-don't-t-t l-l-leave-” The command was very nearly hysterical, and as the words left his mouth Ned wriggled desperately against the assassin, seeking to steal just a bit of his warmth.

 

Jacob released his hold on the knife beneath his pillow and sat up a little, ignoring Ned's whining protests. He made Ned sit up with him so he could wrap both arms around his lover's small, shivering body and pull him into his lap. He extracted one arm from their cocoon of blankets and pulled them tighter around Ned's form, tucking them in tightly while his other arm continued to move beneath them, rubbing every inch of icy skin he could reach. Satisfied, he leaned back against the headboard and pulled his arm back into the cocoon, rubbing it against Ned's legs while the other worked over his back and arms. Ned buried his face against Jacob's throat, relishing the warmth there and sleepily inhaling the familiar scent of _Jacob_. His thoughts were still dull, his mind still sluggish, so nuzzling into that scent made him light-headed and giddy.

 

Jacob frowned, worried at how the smaller man continued to tremble in his arms. His body was so tense, and the shaking so violently the assassin was genuinely concerned. After a few minutes, though, Ned began to relax in increments and the trembling slowed until Ned was slumped against him, exhausted and achy but able to feel his fingers and toes again. Jacob kissed the crown of his head and rubbed his palm firmly across Ned's shoulder blades. “Better?” His only response was a tired nod. Trying not to dislodge the blankets wrapped tight around them, Jacob maneuvered them back down to the mattress, keeping the thief wrapped tightly in his arms. He heard Ned mumble something at him, and frowned. “What was that?”

 

“Mm. Said don'stop holdin' me. Too cold.”

 

Jacob chuckled. “That's not what I normally hear.” He teased, hands still rubbing in circles against the smaller body.

 

Ned lifted his head and opened one bleary, sulky eye. “S'one time deal.”

 

Jacob laughed and leaned down to brush his lips over that scowling brow. “Sure.”

 

“Is. Smug... clingy bast'rd.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Hate you.”

 

Jacob's chest rumbled with his laughter. “I know. Go back to sleep, Ned.”

 

The thief's eye closed and he tucked his head under Jacob's chin again, pressing himself closer to that impossible heat. He was so tired, so sore. And not even the _good_ kind of sore, his delirious mind supplied. Not the fun kind of sore he associated with time spent in Jacob's arms. This was a miserable kind of sore. He sighed, trying to concentrate on Jacob's roaming hands instead. And, really, it was shockingly easy to do so. It was like some sort of hypnotism, and Ned felt the last of the cold chased away as Jacob rolled them slightly so Ned was mostly on his back and the assassin was leaning over him. On any other night, Ned would have found this suffocating. He'd have complained and wiggled away and snapped at Jacob not to hang on him but this... this was...

 

It was _nice._ It was...

 

“Shit...”

 

Jacob had been near to dosing off when the quiet curse was uttered. He lifted his head, concern on his face as he looked down at Ned. “What's wrong?”

 

Ned sighed, long and dramatic. Scowling, he tilted his head back so he could glare up at the assassin. “I'm _cozy_.”

 

Jacob merely stared at him for a long moment, bewildered by the statement before he let out a great, barking “ _Hah!”_ of laughter and ducked his head to press his lips firmly against Ned's sneering mouth. “Will you shut up and go back to sleep already?”


End file.
